Trigger
by purplepagoda
Summary: In the aftermath of Beast's Obession Olivia finds herself closer to the edge than she's ever been. Can anyone stop her from the path of destruction she's on? How bleak will things get before someone tries to stop her? Or has the beast finally won?
1. Rock Bottom

She angrily flicks the yellow bic lighter over, and over until she gets a spark. Finally she sees a flame. She touches the end of the cigarette to the crest of the flame. She allows the flame to dissipate as she watches the cigarette burn. She stares at the end of the light cigarette for several moments deciding her next move. She taps the ash on the edge of an empty wine bottle. Two puffs from the end she can't help but wonder. She wonders what memories pressing the end of the butt to her skin will dredge up. She blinks realizing with the day that she's had it probably doesn't matter. She presses the cigarette to her lips, and takes a drag, instead. She finishes the cigarette, and drops it into the bottom of the empty wine bottle.

The wine bottle sits in the center of the table surrounded by a lighter, a carton of cigarettes, a pack of matches, a half empty bottle of bourbon, a set of keys, a cell phone, a gun, and a couple of bottles of pills. She grabs another cigarette, and strikes a match this time. The smell of a burning match floods her with memories. She drops the match into the wine bottle. She opens a bottle of pills, and pours some into the palm of her hand. She grabs the bottle of bourbon, and takes a swig. She tosses the pills in her mouth, and swallows. She takes a couple more from another bottle. She takes those ones too.

She stares at her gun as the end of the cigarette burns. She takes a puff, and looks at the full magazine sitting next to her gun. It's her back up. The one she no longer carries. She doesn't feel safe no matter how many guns she carries. She puts out the cigarette, and discards it. She grabs the gun, and the magazine. She taps the magazine into the gun. She removes the safety, and racks a bullet into the chamber. She exhales. She presses the gun to her head, her finger rests outside of the trigger guard. She reaches for the trigger, and is interrupted. She hears fists beating against her door. She clears the weapon, and removes the magazine, placing them both on the table, after clearing the round from the chamber.

"Open the door!"

She rises to her feet, and moves towards the door. She doesn't stop to check the peephole. She pulls the door open. Her partner stares at her, in confusion.

"The door isn't even locked? Olivia it's after midnight."

"Nick go home."

"No."

"Just go home," she exhales.

"What have you been doing?"

"Just leave me alone!" She shouts.

"You smell like alcohol."

"Is that a crime?"

"And cigarettes," he adds.

"Nick, pleas just go," she begs as her eyes plead with him to stay.

She keeps herself between him, and the door.

"This is not going to fly," he tells her.

"Go to Hell!"

He pushes the door open, and rushes into the apartment. She flies after him, slamming the door closed behind them.

"What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to kill yourself."

"Nick, just go."

He stands in front of the coffee table. He sees the booze on the table, and the cigarettes, and firearm, and matches. He turns to his partner. She's wearing a pair of sweatpants, and a t-shirt. Her mascara is smeared all over her face, and her hair is pulled into a sloppy bun.

"Liv don't do this. Don't go down this road."

"I can't do this anymore," she tells him with a flat affect.

"The only thing that is missing from this party is some cocaine."

"Nick, why can't you just..."

He cuts her off, "Just what? Just let you go? Hell no."

"Please, just go."

"I have called you fifteen times. You won't answer my calls. You won't me, you won't answer Rollins, or even Fin."

"My phone was destroyed," she reminds him.

"I know. I have been calling your phone here."

"I..."

"Liv what are you doing to yourself?"

"I don't want to do this anymore. I can't do this anymore. I can't go to work every single damn day, and tell people it's going to be okay. I can't tell them just get a therapist you'll get through it. I can't live a lie. It isn't okay. It is never okay," the tears begin to stream down her face.

"What have you taken?"

"In the last hour?"

"Today?"

"Does it matter?"

"Tell me!" He yells.

"Some antidepressants, a few Percocet, a few ambien, half a bottle of bourbon, and at least an entire bottle of wine."

"Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"Why does it matter? Why do you care what I do?"

He wraps his arms around her, "Because I care about you. I don't want this to destroy you."

"It's a little bit late for that," she insists.

"Not if I can help it," he argues, squeezing her tighter.

"Let me go," she pounds her fists against his chest.

"No, look at me."

She tries to wriggle away, "No."

"Look at me, and I will let you go."

She turns her head, and looks at him, "What?!"

"I am not going to let you do this to yourself. I am not ever going to let you go. Dammit! You are my partner."

"I am broken."

"Only if you let yourself be."

"I have tried being okay, it doesn't work."

"Sit down," he lets go of her.

She takes a seat on the couch. He takes a seat next to her, "This has to stop. I know that you hurt. I know that you're angry. I get that. You drown your sorrow in a bottle of booze, and put yourself in a casket by throwing a bottle of pills on top of it, then he wins."

"Don't you get it? He already won. No matter what I do I can't get away from him. He is in my head. I can't even get away from him in my sleep."

"He can't ever hurt you again. He's gone. He's dead. He can't hurt you anymore."

"The damage is already done."

"Killing you doesn't solve anything. It just takes one more decent human being out of this world who gives a damn about people. Do you know where some of those people would be without you?"

"I don't care, anymore."

"That is a lie, and you know it."


	2. Broken

She picks up a bottle, and throws towards his head. It misses him, and hits the wall, shattering into a hundred shards of glass. Her fists are clenched, and her nostrils flare as she looks at him defiantly.

"Who the hell do you think you are coming here, and telling me..." she begins in a rage.

He cuts her off, "I'm your partner."

"Let me go!" She screams.

"No."

"I need you to let me go. I can't do this anymore. My life, my career, they're over. My purpose has been served so just let me go."

"Your purpose has been served? What if tomorrow someone walks into the precinct, and you are the only person on this earth who can help them? Then what?"

"I am sure you could figure it out."

"For one second could you give up your path to martyrdom, and just listen to me?"

"No."

He shakes his head, and wraps his arms around her. She tries to wriggle free. He grasps her tighter. Eventually she gives up. He watches her closely as she finally lowers herself onto the couch. He sits next to her in silence as she curls up into a ball, drawing her knees to her chest. He doesn't take his eyes off of her as she drifts off into unconsciousness. When he's satisfied that she's finally asleep he begins to clean up her mess. He empties bottle after bottle of alcohol into the sink. He flushes pill after pill down the toilet.

After he's finished cleaning up shards of glass, and discarding the debris he returns to the couch. He hovers over it, over her. He exhales, noting that the cigarettes, and lighter are all that remain. Her gun has safely been put away. Her bullets have been sequestered to a separate location. He removes the blanket from the back of the couch, and covers her up. He pitches the cigarettes in the trash, and tosses the lighter in the junk drawer. He goes into the fridge and removes half a dozen bottles of water. He places them on the coffee table next to her, as she sleeps.

He removes the empty trashcan from the bathroom, and triple lines it with bags. He knows that it's only a matter of time before her sleep is interrupted by a miserable onset of symptoms. He sits next to her, and waits. All too soon she begins to twitch in her sleep. She begins to sweat, and thrash about. He stays by her side as she becomes more, and more unsettled.

The minutes turn into hours until finally her slumber ends. He grabs her hair as she rolls off the couch onto the floor, and begins spewing her stomach contents into the trashcan on the floor. When he's certain that there is nothing left he offers her some water. She refuses, recoiling. He pulls her hair back into a messy bun. Sitting on the floor, with her back against the couch she finally exhales.

"Have you hit rock bottom yet, or do you want to keep going?"

"Why are you trying to save me?"

"Because I'm not ready to let you go."

"I'm not worth it."

"Keep telling yourself that, and you never get out of this hole you're in."

"Nick save the holier than though speech for someone who gives a shit," she spews.

"One day you'll understand."

"One day? Nick why are you here? What possessed you to come here in the first place?"

"I know what he did to you."

"You have no idea."

"I know that every single time that I look at you, you look away. You can't even look me in the eye anymore. Every time I see you all I can see is the hell going on in your head. It never goes away. You look exhausted, and conflicted, and afflicted every second of every day. You have to let it go."

"I don't know how."

"So you're just going to let this ruin you? You're going to let this be the way you go out?"

"Who cares?"

"You want to be like her?" He cocks an eyebrow.

"That is a cheap shot."

"Answer the question," he demands.

"You know something Fin said to me a while back has been playing on repeat in my head, for days."

"What's that?"

"At some point we play all of the parts," she explains.

"So you want to be an angry addict who is too busy living the addiction to care about anything else? You want to be so consumed by it that you don't give a damn how what you're doing effects anyone else?"

"It's just me. I don't have a husband, or a family. It's just me."

"Don't give me that crap. You're family is twenty thousand men, and women and blue."

"Well, you know what?"

"What?"

"I am tired of towing that blue line. What is the point? We never win. We will never win. Why even try?"

"Saving just one, shouldn't that be enough?"

"Not anymore."

"So you've just given up? He walked into your life, and now he's going to live in your head, forever? You're going to let him make every decision for you for the rest of your life."

"Go to hell."

"I would gladly join you there," he explains.

For the first time in months she makes eye contact. She swallows hard, "Why would you want to?"

"I don't want to lose you," he answers honestly.

"I'm not worth saving," she argues as her eyes fill with tears.

"Depends on who you ask."

"If this is were you insert some we are the world bullshit..."

"No. What about Amelia?"

"Everything that happened to her is because of me. I didn't do anything for her."

"You saved her life," he argues.

"What life? Her mother is dead. That is my fault. Her sister was brutalized, and that is my fault too. She is going to live a tortured, and conflicted life, and she's just a kid. She is going to have serious psychological scars that follow her around for the rest of her life. That is all my fault."

"You are only responsible for your actions," he reminds her.

"My actions led to..."

He cuts her off, "You didn't put a bullet through anyone's head. You didn't rape anybody."

"It was my fault."

"How?"

"I should have killed him when I had the chance. I could have saved them."

"And I would have lost you."

"It's too late for me."

"You're really going to look me in the eye, and tell me everything you have worked for the past fifteen years is for naught? You are going to let one man erase all of the good you have done? You are going to let a single sociopath end your career? You're going to let him end your life? You are going to let him win? What am I supposed to tell all of the women that you helped when you won't even take your own advice?"

"It's a load of crap, and you know it. We can't help victims. Nobody can help them."

"But themselves."


	3. Day One

She opens her eyes, but quickly shuts them as the sun hits her. Her mouth is dry, and she's covered in sweat. Her hair is pulled into a bun, and her clothes are twisted around her. She takes a breath, and quickly realizes that she's lying on a hard surface. She slowly opens her eyes this time, and begins to survey her surroundings. She lies on her side in the fetal position on her living room floor. Her back of her throat feels like burnt sandpaper. She slowly moves into a sitting position.

She leans backwards, using the couch as stability. She feels movement above her. She turns, and finds her partner lying on her couch. He stares down at her with a disapproving look.

"What time is it?" She questions.

"After noon."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"You've drifted in and out for hours."

"Why are you still here?"

"Someone has to be."

"I feel like shit."

His lips spread across his face forming a smile, "Welcome to sobriety."

"It's a bitch."

"No one said any of this would be easy."

"I don't want to do this."

"Do what?"

"I don't know if I can spend the rest of my life sober," she explains, with candor.

"Why not?"

"It's a harsh reality."

"So you either face it sober, or you die a drunk. That's really up to you."

"Right now I just want a shower."

"You won't find anything in the bathroom."

"Excuse me?"

"I even poured out your mouthwash," he explains."

"You think that I'm that desperate."

"In this moment? Maybe not, but eventually you will be."

"Nick..."

"I am not going to give you any credit. I know who you are."

"I..."

He cuts her off, again, "In this moment."

"I don't even know who I am."

"Figure it out."

"I don't even know where to start."

"Try the beginning."

She rolls her eyes as she rises from the floor to her feet. She exits the room without another word. She gathers some clothes from the bedroom, and slams the bathroom door. She strips her clothes, and climbs into the shower. As the warm water hits her she wishes that washing away her sins, her burdens could be as easy as washing away the filth of the day. She grabs her shampoo bottle, and the feeling starts to creep up on her. As she rinses the suds from her hair she feels the numbness begin to dissipate.

Her mind begins to race, and she plays the same scenes in her head over, and over again. She hears the sound of a gun shot. She can feel the blood on her face, like she's there once again. She knows she should feel relief that it's over, but she doesn't. She feels more conflicted than before. She closes her eyes, and allows the water to wash over her. The sound of someone banging cabinet doors in her kitchen brings her back to reality.

She finishes her shower, and turns off the water. She climbs out, and reaches for a towel. She dries off, and brushes her teeth. She pulls on clothes, but doesn't bother addressing her hair. In fact, she doesn't even bother looking in the mirror. She doesn't reach for make up, or moisturizer. She slaps some chapstick onto her dry lips, and reaches for the door knob. She pulls the door open, and exits the bathroom.

As she heads for the kitchen she hears the sound of someone flipping on the coffee pot. She rounds the corner, expecting to see her partner's dark eyes, and his five o'clock shadow. She stares at the figure standing in front of her in confusion. She blinks.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I thought you might want some coffee," he answers.

"Where is Amaro?" She questions.

"I sent him home."

"Why are you here?"

"For you," he answers.

"I don't understand..."

"How many times have you had my back?"

She furrows her brow, "I don't understand."

"If you want to stand outside on the ledge that's up to you, but I just want you to know we're not going to let you stand out there alone. We're a team. The good, the bad, the ugly, we're here for you."

"Fin..."

"We don't have to talk about it right now."

"Good because I'm tired of talking."

"I just wish I had stopped you. I wished I had called you out. I know..."

She cuts him off, "You couldn't have stopped me."

"What about now?"

"I don't know," she admits defeat.

"You hungry?" He cocks an eyebrow.

"No," she shakes her head.

"The coffee will be done in a minute, you want some?"

"Yeah," she nods.

"Are you sure you don't want anything to eat? I make a mean omelet," he questions as he watches the percolating coffee pot.

"Do you know how many times I played that scenario in my head?"

He turns and looks at her. He leans against the counter, settling in for her answer, "Probably a million."

"I thought I wouldn't hesitate. I thought I would put the gun to his head, and just pull the trigger. When I got there it was like I was having an out of body experience. It was like I wasn't controlling anything that I did. I did everything wrong. I went against everything that I learned."

"You saved that girl's life."

"I ruined her life," she argues.

"You saved her," he disagrees.

"I thought that the burden would be lifted, but it's not. I thought that it would be over when he hit the concrete, that I would feel... something. I thought there would be some sense of relief. I still have the scars, and I don't know..." she trails off as the tears start to fall from her eyes.

He steps forward, and hugs her, "That's okay."


End file.
